


No Light, No Light

by ungracefulfalling



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Violence, i dont know what im doing, kinda graphic, like really fucking angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:40:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ungracefulfalling/pseuds/ungracefulfalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re pathetic, you know that?” Metatron’s laugh registered in Castiel’s ear, but he was having a hard time processing his words.</p><p>“You bring this army of yours to attack me. At least, what you call an army. You’re a joke, Castiel.” He bent in front of Cas’ body and picked his head up, grabbing his chin and forcing him to open his eyes. He extended his arm out to motion to the dead bodies, scattered and motionless on the floor. Their eyes were burned out of their skulls, but there were no crispy wings burned onto the ground to indicate the victims were ever warriors of God.</p><p>“You thought that you would be able to take me down with a tiny little rag-tag team like this? Well, you were horribly wrong. And now look at them. Look at you. They’re all dead because of you. They believed in you and you’re curled into yourself like a child. You let them down. It’s your fault.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Light, No Light

**Author's Note:**

> -Okay so this is really fucking bad I apologize in advance  
> -I'm sick and off from school and I wanted to write  
> -I didn't proof read this so if you find any mistakes please tell me :)))  
> -Feedback is super appreciated 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I came up with this prompt when I thought they were gonna kill off Cas at the end of the season

The stolen grace inside of him burned when he stepped up to look into Metatron’s eyes. It clawed at his insides, basically begging for a way out of the foreign body, but Castiel pushed it down, pleading for it to stay calm. The grace couldn’t dwindle now, not _now._

 

But the burning was persistent, taking Cas’ breath away. He pressed his hand against his chest, borderline begging it to stay. Metatron gave him a confused look, which soon turned to glee as he realized just _what_ was happening. “Having a little trouble there, Castiel?” he smirked, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking up at him with mock-concern.

 

Cas picked his head up to retort; only to lower it once again as air was ripped from his lungs. Metatron took advantage of the second, bringing his fist up quickly and smiling when he heard the crack of his fist meeting Castiel’s jaw.

 

Cas’ eyes widened, pulling back as blood trickled out of his mouth, and putting his arms up in defense so Metatron couldn’t attempt another punch. With the hands covering his face, Metatron picked his leg up and kneed Castiel in the groin, consequently kicking him in the stomach when he doubled over in pain. The kick in the stomach pushed Cas backwards, trying to back away from his attacker while wrapping his arms around his stomach.

 

This was not how this confrontation was supposed to go. Everything was blurry and Castiel couldn’t see straight in front of him. He closed his eyes tightly, and when he opened them, Metatron wasn’t in front of him anymore. He went to breath a sigh of relief when he heard shuffling behind him. He whipped around, finding Metatron standing behind him, and as quickly as Castiel could process it, there were hands around his throat, forcing him backwards toward the opposite wall of the building.

 

As soon as he was pressed up against the wood, sandwiched between Metatron and the wall, Metatron’s fist was on his face again, breaking his nose and probably one of his cheekbones. His free hand was still wrapped around Castiel’s throat, but the pressure ceased after Metatron threw a final punch to his face. The minute the hand was removed from his throat, Castiel tried to pull away and run, taking one step before he collapsed against the wall again.

 

This was it. This was the end. _This_ was how we was going to die. It was a noble death, at least. He had promised to do everything in his power to return the angels to heaven, and now his power was gone. So he curled into himself on the floor, trying to make himself as small as possible, and waited for Metatron to end him. A few moments of silence later, Castiel realized the end wasn’t coming just yet.

 

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” Metatron’s laugh registered in Castiel’s ear, but he was having a hard time processing his words.

 

“You bring this army of yours to attack me. At least, what _you_ call an army. You’re a joke, Castiel.” He bent in front of Cas’ body and picked his head up, grabbing his chin and forcing him to open his eyes. He extended his arm out to motion to the dead bodies, scattered and motionless on the floor. Their eyes were burned out of their skulls, but there were no crispy wings burned onto the ground to indicate the victims were ever warriors of God.

 

“You thought that you would be able to take me down with a tiny little rag-tag team like this? Well, you were horribly wrong. And now look at them. _Look at you_. They’re all dead because of you. They believed in you and you’re curled into yourself like a child. You let them down. It’s your fault.”

 

Tears burned in the back of Castiel’s eyes, stupid _human_ tears, as he thought about the promises he had made to some of the angels in his charge.

 

*

 

_I’ll keep you safe. I promise._

Whispered to a young angel, confused and scared, after she came to the leader for help. Castiel remembered explaining the ins-and-outs of war to her, walking her through battle strategies, and soothing her when the faction had lost a soldier she had become close to. He had begun to see her as something of a daughter or child, as he had sometimes seen Samandriel. He thought sometimes of Jimmy Novak when he was with her, only now realizing why the young girl Claire meant so much to him. Castiel had never learned her name, but she was a few feet away from him, smoke still emitting from her eyes.

 

He let the first tear fall.

 

*

_This mission is full proof. I promise._

Spoken to Hannah before a particularly dangerous mission. He had become incredibly close to the angel, keeping her by his side and going to her for advice. He thought of her as a friend, as opposed to most of the angels in the faction who he saw as soldiers more than friends. She had cocked an eyebrow at the statement but nodded, pulling him into a hug and telling him to “stay safe.” Hannah’s body was bloody and beaten; she had fought with her attacker before taking an angel blade to the chest. Her cheeks, under the empty eye sockets, were wet with tears and her bloody arm was reaching in Castiel’s direction.

 

He let another tear fall.

 

*

_I’ll fix this. I promise._

Shouted in a commanding voice to the whole of the faction before they had set out for the final mission. Many had cheered, smiles lighting up their faces, and some had only nodded with a sober expression, knowing most of the group would be dead before nightfall. The faction believed in Castiel and trusted him wholly, their loyalties always in place. And now they were scattered around him, every single one of them dead. He had failed.

 

He wasn’t trying to stop the tears anymore.

 

*

 

_I won’t let you down. I promise._

Whispered to Dean Winchester before he had kissed him. It was unexpected and rushed and heated and it was over much too quickly. Thinking back on it now, he wasn’t even sure if it happened or not. The feel of Dean’s lips on his own, his hands in his hair, and strong hands on his waist. It was thrilling and terrifying and it felt like flying again. When it was over, they had shared a look, Castiel nodding and Dean smirking before he left the office without another word. Sam and Dean weren’t among the bodies surrounding him and Castiel wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or scared, but the memories just forced more tears to fall. He had let Dean down.

 

He had let everyone down.

 

*

 

Metatron laughed again. “And now he’s crying. Would you look at that! How human are you?”

 

Castiel groaned as he was kicked in the side, the force turning him onto his stomach. Metatron put a foot on his chest, taking the breath out of him once again. He couldn’t see out of one eye and there was a steady stream of blood running from his temple to his chin. He had to have at least 3 broken ribs and it felt as if his nose was broken beyond repair. After one last kick to the stomach, Metatron stepped back to admire his handiwork.

 

“Please, just kill me,” Castiel mumbled, his tears mixing with the blood spewing out of his mouth.

 

“Begging for mercy, already? I expected more from you,” he laughed. “But if you insist.”

 

He put his arm out beside him, angel blade dropping into his hand. He smiled at it and took two steps toward Castiel’s body before a voice broke the silence.

 

“Get away from him if you know what’s good for you.”

 

Metatron and Castiel both whipped their heads around, staring at the intruder. Cas had to stop himself from laughing in relief when he saw Dean, but the relief slowly turned to apprehension when he saw the First Blade hanging loosely in his grasp.

 

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.” Metatron’s statement was playful and sarcastic, but his tone of voice was the exact opposite. He sounded just as nervous as Castiel looked, eyeing the blade in Dean’s hand and the burning mark on his forearm.

 

Dean stepped closer to Metatron, smiling at him and trying to back him up against the wall. Metatron’s smile faded very quickly as he turned to try to move around Dean. The angel picked his arm up and tried to swing the blade at the eldest Winchester, who grabbed Metatron’s arm and twisted it until he heard a snap. The angel blade dropped to the floor.

 

“Dean, wait-“ Castiel croaked out, but Dean was too far-gone. He shoved the First Blade through Metatron’s chest, watching as his eyes were burned from his skull and he fell to the ground, leaving monstrous wings burned into the floor. But Dean wasn’t finished there.

 

There was a growling sound and Dean was straddling Metatron’s lifeless body, colliding his fist with his pale face. Cas tried to move, tried to say something, but his mouth wouldn’t work. It only hung open as Dean turned Metatron’s face into a pulp of hanging skin and blood.

 

After he stopped punching, there was a moment of just silence. But when Dean did finally move to turn around, the gasp came involuntarily out of Castiel’s mouth.

 

Dean’s face was twisted up into a terrifying grin, Metatron’s blood coating both of his hands completely. His eyes were completely black, as if he was possessed, but Cas knew that wasn’t the case. The black eyes settled on Castiel, fading back to Dean green ones for a moment.

 

The hunter kneeled in front of Castiel’s body, observing the wounds curiously, but with no hint of concern. After taking all of Cas’ injuries into consideration, he looked around the room at his surroundings: the dead bodies covering the floor, and the blood staining the walls.

 

Dean’s eyes returned to black as he looked in Cas’ direction again. “It’s your fault,” he said simply.

 

No. Castiel wouldn’t believe it. This was Dean, _his Dean._ Or was it really? Had the mark and the blade taken him over this completely?

 

“What are you talking about?” Cas croaked. He couldn’t figure out if it was the pain or tears that were clogging up his throat.

 

“They’re all dead. And it’s your fault. You let them down.”

 

The last few words broke the dam and soon, warm tears were flowing down Cas’ face again. He felt human, and he hated it. He wiped his cheeks and glared at the demon. Because this wasn’t Dean, it was Cain.

 

            _Cain_ walked up to him again, kneeling in front of him and looking closely into his eyes. “With this mark, I don’t see shades of grey anymore. Did you know that? There is no humanity. Just good and bad. What do you think you are?”

 

Castiel thought long and hard about the answer. Being honest with himself, he didn’t know.

 

He wasn’t good, that was for sure. His actions had resulted in millions of fatalities over the years; whether it was the Apocalypse, his war with Raphael, Leviathan, or Metatron. He was the reason so many innocent people and angels were dead.

 

But he wasn’t bad. He had raised the Righteous Man from Hell successfully, and helped him and his brother stop Lucifer from destroying the Earth. He had saved angels from Raphael’s rule and now from Metatron. He had saved the lives of the Winchesters more times than he could count, and without them, the world would have been destroyed years ago.

 

The more that he thought about it, he realized how hard it was to define what was good and what was bad. Angels were supposed to be pure good, but over the years, the world had learned that angels were anything but pure good. Castiel had done a lot of good, but he had done just as much bad. Demons were supposed to be pure bad, pure evil. Meg, a demon who had killed thousands and worked among Azazel, Lucifer, and Crowley, some would call the ‘epitome of bad.’ But Meg had helped the Winchesters, helped Castiel himself, and done some good.

 

Lost in his thoughts, Dean…no… _Cain_ , snapped in front of Castiel’s face, asking him the question again.

 

“What do you think you are, Castiel?”

 

Cas looked up into D-Cain’s eyes once again, as they faded to black for the last time.

 

“Both.”

 

“Wrong answer.”

 

The blade was thrust through Castiel’s chest quicker than he could protest, feeling nothing but fire and heat as the last bits of life were yanked out of him.

 

When there was nothing but a body left, Dean stood up with the blade in his hand, looking around at the lifeless bodies all around him. He looked at Metatron and almost laughed, staring down at his hands still covered in Metatron’s blood.

 

“Dean!”

 

He turned to the open doorway where Sam stood, a bloody lip, but otherwise unharmed.

 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I killed two of Metatron’s men and I turned around and you were gone.”

 

Sam took a step closer and recoiled, backtracking and taking in a breath sharply.

 

“Your eyes are black,” he all but whispered.

 

Dean didn’t move. Just stood there with a blank expression on his face, before wobbling a bit and falling to his knees.

 

“Dean! Dean, _snap out of it!_ ”

 

Sam sprinted over to him as he fell, ripping the blade from Dean’s iron grasp.

 

“Let _go_ of it!”

 

Soon Sam ripped it out of his brother’s fist, taking some of his skin with it, throwing the blade to the side of the room, as far away from Dean as he could get it. Slowly, his brother’s eyes turned back to green as Dean looked up at him. “Sam?”

 

The younger Winchester smiled down at his brother. “Yeah, it’s me. Holy shit, man, you scared that crap out of me. We have to put that thing in the trash.”

 

Sam hauled his brother up by the arm, pulling him into a standing position and turning around to return upstairs when he looked behind his brother and saw the burned wing markings covering the floor.

 

“Dean? Did you kill Metatron?”

 

Dean turned his head around to look at the body propped against the wall, as Sam ran to it, covering his mouth and gagging when he saw the mutilated face. One look at Dean’s bloodied knuckles, and Sam turned pale, eyeing Metatron again.

 

Sam was observing Metatron’s wing markings and burned eyes when he heard the sound of knees hitting the floor and a choked sob. He turned his body around only when he heard his brother’s scream.

 

“ _CAS?”_

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song No Light, No Light by Florence and the Machine and totally go Google it right now because it's perfect and fits Cas very well so


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